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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28732242">alone, at loss for words (but still)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vreaa/pseuds/vreaa'>vreaa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Failed Wedding, Floris | Fundy Needs A Hug, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, No beta I die, They talk, Unrequited Love, dre the "runaway bride", first posted fic of the year and it is This i have nothing to say, unrequited pining, what the fuck there's a tag for that and i completely agree</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:33:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,819</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28732242</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vreaa/pseuds/vreaa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't think..." Fundy pauses, pushes his hands deeper into his pockets, and forces a trembling breath between his lips. "I don't think you were ever quite mine." Dream shifts. Fundy hates how his mind engraves that movement into his memory. "Not the same way I was yours, at least."</p><p>—</p><p>After the wedding, Fundy and Dream have a talk.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Past Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>275</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>alone, at loss for words (but still)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/igabega/gifts">igabega</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the long overdue fwt-dnf fic from The Wedding Video </p><p>i speedran this okay so apologies for any potential errors 🙏🙏 enjoy the angst mfs</p><p>remember that all this is just for fun!! don't shove the fics or ships in the cc's faces, though on the odd chance that you're a cc looking for this then all i have to say is You Asked For It :woman_shrugging: anyway enjoy!!</p><p>this fic is for root, who's been so incredibly supportive lately :)) ily &lt;3</p><p>title from <a href="https://youtu.be/LckL1Orh5ts">desire</a> by jeremy zucker</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything is a mess.</p><p>Sapnap's brooding, face a storm as he leans on a pillar, Tommy is <em> fuming</em>, pacing vigorously around the church as Tubbo struggles to keep up, Wilbur's trying to talk over <em> everyone </em> , hands drawing frantic lines in the air as he tries to get all the guests to settle down, and Fundy can't <em> move</em>.</p><p>There are hands on his arms, on his shoulders, tugging him away and trying to give him comfort and condolences and sincere apologies, but none of it reaches him. Their fingers stain his suit and skin and he wants nothing more than to tear away, to cower in a corner and shut his ears to the world, to lash out and rip their hands <em> away from him</em>, because those aren't the touches he <em> wants</em>, he doesn't want any of this, he wants <em> Drea– </em></p><p><em> He left you</em>, an ugly emotion rears its head and lets loose a piercing roar in his ears, in his head, through his heart, and Fundy <em> hurts</em>.</p><p><em> Dream, Dream, Dream </em> , he thinks, thinks of familiar gazes turned foreign, of blinding smiles turned forced, of laughter and kisses turned away from him, turned towards a man with brown hair and even browner eyes, and everything seems to <em> burn</em>.</p><p><em> All his fault</em>, the loud, pounding voice in his head hisses, sending poison curdling in his veins and acid biting on his tongue, <em> it's all his fault that this happened, all his fault that Dream's gone, all his fault that you're alone at the altar, forced to wallow in loose ends and your own thoughts, all HIS FAULT– </em></p><p>Like glass breaking, the darkness in his mind shatters. </p><p>He snaps back to an almost underwater view of this too-bright church and too-noisy audience, muted voices growing louder and louder and <em> louder</em>, buzzing in his ears and creating a whirlwind in his mind.</p><p>"<em>Fundy</em>," Niki's soft voice echoes, and it's so unbelievably <em> grating</em>. "<em>Fundy, let's go. Come on, Fundy.</em>"</p><p><em> They're treating you like a baby again</em>, the stinging voice comes back, <em> treating you like you're an insufferable child, like you've never grown up, now that Dream's gone. The only reason why they ever stopped was because of Dream, you are NOTHING without Dream– </em></p><p>And then the other voices come in, swarming like a nest of bees and bouncing around in his head, and everything is so scrambled, building up pressure and <em> pressure </em> and <em> more pressure and– </em></p><p>"<em>Enough</em>!" He bursts out. The church falls silent. His eyes land on the empty spot next to him on the altar.</p><p>
  <em> Why did you leave? </em>
</p><p>Niki's grip on his forearm tightens. The other strangers' touches make him feel <em> gross</em>.</p><p>
  <em> What did he have that I didn't? </em>
</p><p>"Leave me alone." He demands quietly. </p><p>Niki starts to protest. He can make out how her face furrows even through his pounding head and strained vision. Phil, a bench away, gives her a look. Unwillingly, she lets go.</p><p>His body his own and his skin untouched, it's almost freeing. The chains wrapped around his heart squeeze as if to prove him wrong.</p><p>
  <em> Was I just not good enough? </em>
</p><p>His footsteps echo as he walks down the red-lined aisle, trampling vehemently over the pale pink flower petals scattered on it. The guests murmur — Fundy feels their stares burn into his clothes.</p><p>
  <em> Did you ever love me? </em>
</p><p>His feet are heavy, lead-like, when he decides to break into a run. Everything is too much all at once, and he's hurting and cold and so, <em> so </em> alone, and all he wants to do is get <em> away</em>. Away from this place with these people he barely knows, away from the prying, pitying eyes of his family and friends and <em> away</em>, <em> so far away </em> from the image of Dream running down the same path he is now, hand in another's–</p><p>His eyes sting. His feet bring him through the church doors.</p><p><em> Run, then</em>, the voice in his head cackles. <em> Coward. </em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dream doesn't deny his request for a meet up, later in the evening.</p><p>He doesn't say anything, really. Just leaves Fundy on "read", but Fundy knows he'll be there, by the bridge that Fundy had proposed to him on. </p><p>It's a special bridge to them– him. Fundy. (He can't be sure if <em> anything </em> in their relationship had been special to Dream anymore.) It's where they met, where Fundy first asked him out, and ultimately where Fundy proposed to him, after watching Treasure Planet in a shitty cinema with overpriced popcorn. It had been perfectly imperfect, but Dream's laugh – no matter genuine or ingenuine – had made it all worth it, in the end.</p><p>Dream will be there — of that, he's sure.</p><p>The blonde's emotions have always had a great impact on his every choice, entwined with every decision he makes and immersed in every word he says, and this time, it's guilt. It's unfakeable, really. The only thing Fundy is sure was real about their relationship. It's a weakness yet a strength, this empathy, and it's always been one of the many things Fundy loves about him.</p><p>Vaguely, he wonders if George knows this too. If George knows of just how strongly Dream feels for <em> everything</em>, if George knows of how simple, almost-meaningless words can keep Dream up late at night, if George knows of the way Dream will go to the furthest lengths to apologise to someone he's hurt, if–</p><p>Oh, who is he kidding? He almost wants to laugh. George probably knows all this already. George probably knows all of this and <em> more</em>.</p><p>He's on his bed, stomach is facing the ceiling. His eyes follow the blades of the fan spin as his hands grip his mattress.</p><p>Is it that surprising, really? That the wedding didn't work out?</p><p>Nothing had ever really gone right for him until he met Dream — not with his father, who'd been missing every single time Fundy had wanted – <em> needed </em> – him, not with his social life, where he'd been shunned, day after day, for his bright orange hair, and when he'd met <em> Dream</em>, everything seemed to change. Dream, the pretty golden boy with forests for eyes and a galaxy within his gaze, who'd looked at him, lonely and sad on the bench at the bridge, and sat down, providing nothing more than silent companionship, but in that moment it'd been enough.</p><p>(Dream has always been enough for him. He supposes it had been wishful thinking on his part to assume the same could be said the other way round.)</p><p>Fundy had thought his life had <em> finally </em> turned around, then. Thought that <em> that </em> had been the start of a change.</p><p>He'd lived. Truly lived. Tied the anchor of his soul to Dream and tried to live as hard as he could, tried to do the most he could with his life and create as little regrets as possible.</p><p>He'd believed – truly, wholly, with <em> everything </em> he had – that they had something. </p><p>He'd believed that Dream loved him back.</p><p>The fan whirrs. Wetness slips down his cheeks and stains the sheets.</p><p>In all hindsight, he really should've known. </p><p>Dream's growing tendency to avoid answering questions about where he'd been, the way he'd come back later and later and <em> later</em>, smelling like honey and lavender and all other things he is <em> not</em>, the increasingly sparing affirmations of love, the ever-growing distance between them — the signs had all been there.</p><p>Maybe he'd subconsciously chosen to ignore them, those signs. Maybe a side of him had <em> seen </em> the signals and had <em> known</em>, but hadn't wanted to admit that it was happening. Maybe that side of him had instead chosen to ignore the yellow lights and the red striped tape, ignore the warnings staring him right in the face and plunder on, foolishly, hopelessly in love.</p><p>Maybe he'd thought if he pretended everything was okay, it would become true.</p><p>Time has proven otherwise, of course.</p><p>All that remains true – and really, that's always been the constant, hasn't it? – is the fact that Fundy had loved him, loves him, will always love him.</p><p>And he'll never love Fundy back.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>As expected, Dream is there, on the bridge.</p><p>Fundy looks at him, thinks of the heartbreaking, defiant look he'd had on back at the church, when George had stood proudly and yelled a confident "<em>I object!</em>" before pressing Dream's lace-covered hand in his own, and tries, so hard, not to fall apart.</p><p>"Hey," Dream says, giving an awkward half-wave with his hand, and <em> God</em>, it's barely even been half a day, but the sound of his voice still brings Fundy a relief, like iced water on a hot afternoon.</p><p><em> Hi</em>, Fundy tries to say, but the word chokes up in his throat and dissipates on his tongue.</p><p>Dream looks pretty, even now, in a ratty denim jacket and black jeans. The lamp post illuminates the honey-gold of his hair and tints the greens of his irises. If Fundy looks closer, he'll catch the barest traces of the makeup from the wedding still resting on Dream's tan skin, find specks of glitter scattered into his flaxen locks.</p><p>"So…" Dream starts. Fundy selfishly allows himself to revel in the timbres of his voice. "What did you want to…"</p><p>It's almost laughable. </p><p>"What did I want to talk about?" Bitterness swoops in and unclogs his throat, and suddenly Fundy is there again, back at that church, back at that altar, watching as the man he's about to marry run off with someone else, and–</p><p>"What do you <em> think </em> I want to talk about, Dream?" He spits. Dream grimaces, and his lips press into a flat line.</p><p>Fundy loathes the part of him that whispers thoughts of how he looks better smiling.</p><p>Dream fiddles with his fingers. "Oh."</p><p>"Oh?" Fundy echoes, and there's a wildfire brewing under his skin, "Is that all you have to say?"</p><p>He takes a step forward, his nerves <em> burning</em>, "How could you?" Green eyes lock with his own, and Fundy searches desperately for <em> answers</em>. "How <em> could </em>you?"</p><p>"I gave you <em> everything</em>," his voice raises, but all he can hear is the sound of his thundering heart and <em> I'm in love with George, Fundy </em> replaying like a broken record in his mind, "my heart, my soul, my <em> secrets </em> – I was ready to give you my <em> life</em>!" His hand flies to his chest, thumps it with a vigor in a futile attempt to stop it from throbbing, "I was ready to give up the rest of my <em> life </em> to spend it with you, and–"</p><p>Tears sear into his eyes and leave hot trails over his cheeks. <em> Crybaby</em>, the voice in his head mocks, <em> no wonder they all treat you like a child</em>.</p><p>"I thought you were <em> different</em>." The noise he lets out is half a laugh, half a sob, "But you threw me aside like I was <em> nothing</em>. Like what we had never <em> mattered</em>. Like my love was <em> worthless</em>."</p><p>Dream is still, under the light of the lamppost. Fundy compares his figure to the stone and wood background of the bridge, flashes back to that night under the stars when he'd knelt on one knee and presented his love with a ring, and a thousand needles seem to prick at his heart.</p><p>"Why?" The word bleeds from his mouth, and the storm in his mind calms in an instant. "Why?"</p><p>Dream breathes. His hand sweeps his bangs away from his eyes, and the look he gives Fundy is honest, pained.</p><p>"Love's just like that," he says, quiet. His voice trickles over Fundy's heart and sizzles. "It's unpredictable."</p><p>Fundy is suddenly so, <em> so </em> tired.</p><p>He turns away, shuffles up to the ledge of the bridge and rests his arms there, lets the weight of his words and <em> Dream's </em> words sink into the rough stone, and sighs. </p><p>"How long?" His hands go up to cover his face, cold fingers pressing into his eyes.</p><p>Dream hesitates. "I…"</p><p>"A long time, then." Fundy finalises. There's a hollow, sinking feeling in his gut.</p><p>Dream doesn't answer. He takes that as a yes.</p><p>The night air is quiet, peaceful. It's a direct contrast against the war going on in his head, in his heart, where anger and exhaustion and the firm dregs of love clash. </p><p>He wants to forgive. Wants to move on. But he also wants to scream at Dream until his throat goes hoarse, wants to punch and kick and slap and <em> tear </em> until Dream feels the same hurt he does.</p><p>(He thinks he wants to forget, most of all. Forget the tears he'd sobbed into Dream's hoodie and the warm touch of Dream's hands, forget the bridge and the wedding and the way the names <em> Dream </em> and <em> George </em> seem to <em> fit–</em>)</p><p>Dream shuffles next to him near the ledge. He leans his weight onto it, hands on the stone to stabilise himself, and try as he might, Fundy can't tear his eyes away from his every action.</p><p>The light of the lamppost hits them and pulls shadows in the water below. Fundy traces their silhouettes, familiar yet distant together, and wonders where they went wrong.</p><p>He thinks of late nights up waiting for Dream to come home, of food, stale and untouched on the dinner table, of a cold, empty bed meant for two, and a realisation comes.</p><p>"I don't think..." Fundy pauses, pushes his hands deeper into his pockets, and forces a trembling breath between his lips. "I don't think you were ever quite mine." Dream shifts. Fundy hates how his mind engraves that movement into his memory. "Not the same way I was yours, at least."</p><p>A hum emerges from Dream's lips. Fundy thinks something in him shatters at his recognition of its tone, of its length, of the way he just <em> knows </em> it.</p><p>"I'm sorry." Dream murmurs. The apology is earnest, sincere, but it does nothing to soothe the ache in Fundy's chest.</p><p>He exhales. Lets his gaze flicker elsewhere. He doesn't respond, and Dream doesn't press. </p><p>(Maybe that's how they ended up here — Fundy sees but doesn't acknowledge, Dream starts and leaves it hanging, unresolved.)</p><p>"Did you ever?" Fundy asks. The wind scrapes at his heart.</p><p>"Ever what?" Dream's hands stretch out onto the stone, and his fingers splay on the ledge.</p><p>Fundy swallows. "Love me."</p><p>The silence drags on. Dream's slim fingers tap on the bumpy stone.</p><p>"Once," he says finally. Yearning twists around Fundy's ribs. "Once, at the beginning."</p><p>Fundy pulls in a slow breath through his teeth. His chest aches. </p><p>"I'm sorry." Dream says again, but the words feel meaningless.</p><p>Fundy laughs, raw. "And what's that supposed to do? Help me get over you?"</p><p>Dream flinches. Hurt shines in his gaze, and Fundy feels a bitter sort of vindication.</p><p>"Say it if it makes <em> you </em> feel better, Dream," he continues, the burning in his lungs overriding the passive part of him that tells him to <em> give up, let it go, it's not worth it</em>, "just know that it doesn't mean shit to me — not in the slightest."</p><p>Dream turns away, shoulders sagging with the weight of what Fundy hopes is guilt.</p><p>He ignores the part of him that calls out, the part of him that reaches towards Dream and pleads for him to take him back, the part of him that promises to change and do anything, <em> everything</em>, just–</p><p><em> Don't leave me</em>, echoes in the concaves of his heart, and Fundy feels the space between their hands dig into his skin.</p><p>"I meant it." Dream says, voice soft. "I'm sorry."</p><p><em> I'm sorry too</em>, the thought lodges itself in Fundy's throat, and it takes everything in him to shove it down, <em> sorry I wasn't the one you wanted</em>.</p><p>"I could've handled that… way better." Dream's every admission feels like another dagger through Fundy's soul. "I should've been honest."</p><p>Below them, the water ripples. Their shadows in the water break.</p><p>"No point in pouring over the 'what ifs' and the 'should haves', right?" Fundy lifts his eyes to the stars. They're dim. "What's done is done."</p><p><em> Hypocrite</em>, the voice from hours ago emerges from its dormant state to howl in his ear. Fundy closes his eyes.</p><p>"Go back to George, Dream."</p><p>They don't mention the way his voice shakes.</p><p>Dream looks at him tentatively, like he's worried, like he <em> cares</em>, and Fundy almost cries.</p><p>"<em>Go</em>."</p><p>The sound of Dream's receding footsteps fills his ears. Fundy suppresses the urge to call him back, to throw himself into his arms and kiss him like their lives depend on it.</p><p><em> He doesn't love you</em>, are the words that curl disapprovingly around his heart, closing in and leaving their mark on the most tender parts of his soul.</p><p><em> They always leave, at some point</em>, he finds himself thinking. The clouds move, and the moon is hidden.</p><p>The cicadas chirp. The cold wind bites at his cheeks.</p><p>In the end, Fundy – a mess of broken promises and dysfunctional families, layered with abandonment issues and with a soul that's bruised and battered – is always, <em> always</em>, alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>uh 💃 how are you feeling 😀</p><p>sorry for being inactive here HANSHAJAHA but if you've seen my twitter you would Know just how chaotic things have gotten, with school starting and everything :pensive: and i've also been working on a Big Karlnap Project Thing so hehe you can look out for that :D</p><p>come find me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/vrealitical">@vrealitical</a>, or alternatively drop an ask in my <a href="http://vreaa.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> if you're shy to dm hehe </p><p>don't be shy, leave a comment 👀👀 i'll love you forever :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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